‘I imagine it’s like getting back on a horse,’ Geoffrey squeaked and I stifled a giggle.
We pulled up in a car park on an industrial estate, a large cinema and TGI Fridays opposite the warehouse-style rink. Dennis slid the door back, helping everyone down. As I watched the slow progress of our group, some already complaining about lower back problems, tricky hips, I sent up a quick prayer that we would be back on the minibus later with all limbs intact.
Teenagers in red peaked caps stood, slack-jawed, watching our huddle arrive. Taking out my phone I snapped the image of nine people in their seventies and eighties changing into ice-skating boots on wooden benches, the boy in the booth behind them still looking shell-shocked. Grandad had swapped his leather brogues for ice-skating boots. ‘Such fun. Does he shine our shoes for us while we skate in these?’ I sent the photo to Luke, knowing it was bound to make him smile.
‘Are you coming on the ice, Lottie?’ Margaret asked, her hair now hidden under an oversized hot pink bobble hat with a cat stitched into the front.
‘I suppose so,’ I said, laughing as ‘Gangnam Style’ started up on the speakers, neon lights flashing down on the ice. Everywhere we looked there were groups of children or teens racing around the ice, holding hands, wobbling unsteadily along the sides or skidding to a halt. The air smelt of hot dogs and old shoes and I was glad for the layers I had on.
I was enjoying the mindless activity, getting into the flow of things as I moved across the ice, grinning at Geoffrey as he clung, green-faced, to the side. Grandad was making slow but steady progress, his face set in a determined line, his balaclava now rolled up on top of his head. Margaret, was popping Polos like they were speed and following a few paces behind. Arjun was in his element, gliding seamlessly in a sweeping circle, giving me a double thumbs-up as he passed before narrowly avoiding a kissing couple holding hands.
Howard was drinking a bright blue Slush Puppie and talking to Paula, still stretching, on one of the benches on the side. He kept eyeing the ice warily, slurping on his straw.
I came to a stop next to Margaret, who was wobbling uncertainly. ‘How are you finding it?’ I asked her.
Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes bright.
‘I’m hopeless. But it’s wonderful to be out all together like this, and doing something so different, too. Apparently this is all down to you and your charming boyfriend.’
‘Well, in a roundabout sort of way I suppose,’ I said.
‘How are you getting on with finding things to do for your challenge? I’ve had a few ideas,’ she added quickly.
‘Like what?’ I asked, intrigued by her eager expression.
‘Well, I enjoy the ballroom dancing lessons we have in the hall. I always think younger people should get involved, it’s really made for them. Some of the dances are impossible, you wish you had more flexibility and energy. The Lindy Hop is beyond me. But you’re young, you’ll have the energy, and so many are great fun too.’ She added, ‘You can really connect when you’re dancing, it’s so intimate, having to read each other’s body language, anticipate the moves . . . ’
I screwed up my nose.
‘Or board games,’ she said, sensing my reticence. ‘A simple evening sitting round a table together playing something as a group. It can be an excellent way to spend time.’
‘That could work,’ I mused.
‘Oh, I’m so pleased,’ she said, her face turning almost as pink as her hat.
‘Do you want to hold my hand, we might be more confident together?’ I offered her my gloved hand and she took it and we set off round the ice at a steady pace.
‘I’m doing it, I’m doing it,’ Margaret cried out as she started to grow in confidence. Grandad lifted a hand as we both passed and we nearly crashed trying to return it.
‘Your grandad is a nice man,’ Margaret said.
‘You should spend more time together. This group seems really friendly,’ I said.
‘There are lots of different things going on at the club but we don’t often come together in smaller groups like this. The men seem very close, it’s lovely to see.’ Margaret smiled as Geoffrey and Grandad were spotted in the distance, holding each other up on the ice.
‘That’s the golf, I think,’ I said. ‘Grandma always